


If Love Could Last

by danqueray



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 60s!AU, 60s!phan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8906833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danqueray/pseuds/danqueray
Summary: It seems fitting, a man who sells records for a living falls in love with someone who paints a picture of every song he’s ever loved, but it soon ends in heartbreak, and that’s something Phil Lester doesn’t know how to live with.





	

_He says they dream so they don’t stray afar and in each other’s minds they’re always together_

*

Phil thinks the day couldn’t perhaps get much worse. The shelves are lined with ash and the smoke clings to the air, and in some ways he can’t breathe. A man, not any older or younger than he, steps into the shop with a ring of the bell above the old wooden door. Perhaps his laughter is too loud and the cigarette in his hand does nothing for Phil’s wheezing lungs, but he’s attractive, and distracts Phil from his work entirely. He’s clad in black with a leather jacket, hands in pockets with a puff of smoke scrawling intangible letters and words in spirals with every breath. He leaves much like he entered, laughter strewn in violets and cobalts and the most iridescent pearls, and a cigarette between the tips of his fingers to only half an inch. The man doesn’t leave Phil’s thoughts that day, laughter stuck to the walls of his mind and his smile touching each crevice, and with each fleck of chestnut he hopes that the man will return. Phil sighs, turning the sign from “open” to a crimson “closed”. He hates closing up. Perhaps it’s that he can’t stomach walking along the streets of Norwich in the dark (not that Norwich is particularly unsafe by any means), or maybe it’s that Phil prefers the serenity of the day. He takes the record and places it back in the sleeve, putting back under the counter in between two other well played favourites - records which make his heart sing and his lips move effortlessly in time with the words. He locks up the shop in the time it’d take him to walk down the rain-trodden path to the nearest corner shop, precisely four blocks away. Phil decides that he’ll grab himself a sandwich, chicken and mayonnaise because the ham always tastes funny and he can’t stomach another soggy cheese and cucumber. The door closes with a ring of a bell, leaving behind the remnants of The Beatles’ vinyl playing on a battered record player and Phil can’t help but smile as he breathes in the cold air. His hands are in the pockets of his duffle coat, fingers rolling balls of fluff as he steps in puddles and if it weren’t for the rose clouds above him then perhaps his steps would be wider and the click of his heels louder. It’s rare to see the sky tinted apricot and for once he’s lucky to see it, because when the Winter comes around he’s selling vinyls to men with liquor on their lips and lipstick smudged on their neck.

“Oi!” Phil turns a corner, abruptly sent to a halt by the man with a cigarette between his lips and a smirk plastered on his face.

“You work in Lester’s right? That record shop down there,” He points behind him, taking a few steps closer as he does so, and Phil feels his throat closing up. He simply nods, watching the man take another drawl before the smoke catches up to Phil and he starts to cough.

“You don’t smoke do you?” The man laughs, and Phil struggles to find any words because his eyes are like nectar and the most delicious chocolate and perhaps there is something beautiful behind that cigarette.

“I’m Dan Howell.” He extends his hand and it’s cold against Phil’s, harsh and dry but sends shivers down his spine and he isn’t quite sure why.

“Phil Lester.”

“I’ll see y'round Phil.” His lips curl into somewhat a smile before he stamps his cigarette butt out with his shoe.

Phil decides not to dwell on the encounter, with the thought that perhaps maybe it’d slip his mind and that Dan would be a passing memory. Phil however finds himself watching Dan comb through records the following day, with a cigarette between his fingers and hips swaying lightly as he mumbles along to an old song Phil found earlier. He leaves with the sway of his hips and a smile toying at the corners of his lips.

*

Phil likes the way the flames flicker on the wicks of the candles by the side of his bed. He always has at least two, and prefers red over blue and scented over plain. He keeps a candy bar tucked in his drawer hidden beneath white socks and beside a lighter just in case. He’s not quite sure of what that scenario could entail, but he likes to be prepared, and if one day he deems a cigarette attractive then perhaps he’ll dig out his lighter and take a drag.

*

Dan exudes what Phil can only ever desire. He learns this when they sit in the pub and order far too many drinks. He thinks Dan’s smile could light up the city and he thinks if his stare lingers long enough perhaps he’ll drown. Dan asks for another round, voice loud and posture tall with the ash lingering in the beds of his nails. He’s confident, and towers over Phil three inches. His hands are calloused but feel perfectly right in his and Phil can’t quite remember when they stopped being strangers.

“This song is perhaps my favourite.” Dan’s voice is softer than Phil could ever imagine. The brunette walks over to the record player, fingers light over the sleeve with a smile toying at his lips.

“Didn’t know you were a fan of The Beatles.” Phil hums and it takes everything in him not to place a hand on Dan’s cheek and kiss him.

“Not usually,” Dan places the sleeve back on the counter and steps closer to Phil, “although it reminds me of you.” He places one hand on his waist and laces his fingers with Phil’s. “Care to dance?” All it takes is a pleading smile and Phil nods. It’s not long before the shop is filled with laughter and perhaps they’re clumsy and perhaps Dan’s grip is a little too tight but neither would have it any other way. “If I said I only started coming here to see you what would you say?” Their faces are inches apart and Phil can feel Dan’s breath on his lips.

“I’d say your presence certainly doesn’t go amiss.”

“Phil?” Dan asks with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Could take I you out for a drink? And maybe a slice of cake to wash it down? Perhaps up at Mousehold Heath?”

“I’d love to.”

“Tomorrow afternoon? In between twilight and midday, before the sun dips behind the cathedral and the stars blanket the sky.”

“Sounds perfect.” Phil smiles, dropping his hand to Dan’s waist.

“It’s a date.”

Their eyes are filled with hope and heart with a desire to love and be loved in return. Smiles are never fleeting, in the form of shy tugs at the corners of their lips and crinkles at the edges of their eyes. Voices are soft and almost feather-like, with words dancing around the subject that they both harbour the same affection for one another, yet too afraid to say it.

*

“What’s that?” Phil giggles, fingers feathering over the woven basket placed on the chequered blanket.

“I thought I’d bring along some food, ginger beer and a lemonade.” Dan smiles, lifting the lid off the basket before pouring a cup of lemonade to hand to Phil.

“I wish we didn’t have to hide this.” Phil sighs as he takes the red cup from Dan’s hand and takes a sip.

“I wish we didn’t have to either.” Dan’s lips are feather-light on Phil’s forehead, soft and barely there and leaves Phil with the remnants of a blush on his cheeks and a smile upon his chapped lips. Phil’s head rests on Dan’s chest and for once they feel at peace, with the wind softly blowing their hair out of their faces and cold fingers laced in Phil’s lap.

“You remind me of a lot of things.” Dan hums after a while of silence.

“Such as?”

“Spring and blooming daisies, summer with round sunglasses and ice cream dripping down your hand.” Dan pushes a stray strand of hair from Phil’s forehead. “Dandelions and sunflowers and laughter at three-am.”

“You remind me of a lot of things as well.” Dan reminds Phil of battered record sleeves and strawberry-red pinwheels and amber leaves tumbling in autumn. He reminds him of cliché I love you’s and whiskey kisses by candlelight and the scent of bergamot and rum.

“Phil,” Dan starts, thumb soothing innocent patterns on Phil’s as he swallows the lump in his throat. “Can I kiss you?” Phil’s answer is in the form of a smile and a nod and not a moment passes before Dan’s hand cups his cheek and his lips are soft on his. It’s soft and sweet and guided by Dan and he can tell Phil’s never done this before but it’s all okay; it always is. They break away with smiles tugging at their lips and fingers laced at the nape of necks and tangled in each other’s hair. Words aren’t uttered after, just shy glances and soft kisses on chapped lips and giggles strewn in baby blue before their very eyes, dancing by the daisies and peach rose petals scattered on the ground.

They stay until the sun dips behind the horizon, behind the skyline they’ve both grown up underneath; waiting for a moment to feel on top of the world. Liquor laces their tongues, with Dan having brought a bottle of gin to quench their thirst. It prompts strands of hair rolled between fingers as they’re laid side-by-side, Phil’s head on Dan’s chest. It evokes a flurry of laughter and sentences held together by ash laden sticky tape; sentences only the other would ever dare speak aloud. Dan says how he wants to leave it all behind, run away with nothing but the clothes on his back and Phil’s hand in his. He says he’s never fallen in love, but with Phil it comes almost too easily and now he’s forgotten how to breathe.

Phil doesn’t like how Dan’s hands are cold and hard but he can’t bring himself to stop bringing each fingertip to his lips.

They stagger to Dan’s flat as the moon begins to fall. It’s dark and ice laces the cobbled backstreets and perhaps the only thing keeping them warm is each other.

(And the bottle of gin shared between them.)

“Have you ever had a man kiss you like this before?” Dan whispers, lips parting with Phil’s as his fingers trace the curve of his spine. Phil doesn’t care his is tongue is littered with the remnants of a cigarette, or the fact his teeth graze his neck and leave behind watercolour-bruises which he’ll no doubt have to try and hide. Dan’s fingers slip under the thin fabric of his jumper, and at a glance it seems Dan can barely control himself with Phil putty beneath his every touch and kiss. Dan’s sure he’s never seen eyes as alluring as Phil’s; and Phil can’t say he’s ever had anyone kiss him like this, exuding passion and lust with even the softest touch.

*

Phil walks into the store the following day with a spring in his step and a smile etched on his lips. The day is dreary and with each passing second the sky threatens another downpour but it seems as if nothing could dampen Phil’s spirits. Each vinyl is tainted apricot and nostalgic rose through a lense he has only read of in novels and perhaps that’s why his footsteps linger a little longer and his lips are curled into a wide smile. The day passes without much thought until Dan knocks three times on the door and enters before Phil turns the sign in the window.

“Bought you a present.” He places the gift in Phil’s hands, wrapped in brown paper with far too much tape and perhaps not enough string to cover it entirely.

“You really shouldn’t have.” Phil smiles and places it on the counter, wrapping his arms around Dan and rests his head on his chest.

“I missed you.”

“It’s not even been a day yet.”

“Still, I missed you and I really want to kiss you.” Their faces are inches apart and Phil finds it funny he has to tilt his head up to reach Dan’s lips and even funnier Dan is taller than him. He swears he hears an I love you as Dan’s fingers tangle in his hair and tongue slips in his mouth, and a please never leave as the blinds are drawn and the record skips.

“You brought me a book?” Phil places a pillow on the ground for Dan to sit on.

“Had it lying around and- and thought maybe you could read it to me? Mum never thought it was a good idea y’know reading and all, never really learnt if I’m honest. She always said I’d be like my dad, working until the late hours of the morning printing papers and what point was there wasting time reading?”

“Of course I will, get yourself comfy and mind if I lie on you? You’re rather comfortable.” Phil giggles as Dan shuffles with a pillow behind his back, wedged in the corner of the shop and his legs crossed and Phil somehow finds a little space to lie down on his legs.

“Wait-” Dan leans down and presses a soft kiss on Phil’s lips, cupping his cheek lightly before pressing another to his nose. “Ready.”

Phil thinks Dan falls asleep at around midnight, with the gentleness of his voice lulling him into a perfect slumber and he doesn’t quite have the heart to wake him. Instead he grabs a blanket from the storeroom (he uses it on nights where the snow is too thick and the shop is far warmer than home) and drapes it over his frame. He takes the pillow and places it under Dan’s head as he shuffles down, and soon he’s joined him under the soft blanket with his head resting on Dan’s chest.

 

“Morning sleepyhead,” Phil’s lips graze Dan’s cheek. “Good sleep?”

“Surprisingly so for sleeping on a wooden floor.”

“I’d offer you a coffee but it seems we’re all out.” Phil chuckles as he wraps his arm around Dan’s waist. Dan manages a small giggle before peppering kisses along Phil’s cheek, eyelids heavy and laced with the remnants of sleep. “Enjoy the story?”

“Mhm, you make a wonderful storyteller.”

“Care for a cup of coffee and a hot breakfast? Can’t say it’ll be homemade but it’s the thought that counts; besides you haven’t seen my flat yet, we could go afterwards?” And it doesn’t take much for Dan to nod and kiss him sleepily, lips lazy and slow and sitting perfectly right.

They leave the shop with their fingers laced and noses far too cold, tinted rose with crimson cheeks.

“Two coffees please, milk and one sugar.” Phil nods, digging in his pockets only to pull out a crumpled up note and a handful of coins which he passes to the waiter. They talk about everything and nothing, a shared coke between them with peppermint-candy straws in shades of pink and blue.

“So tell me Phil, do you like the stars?” Dan’s fingers feather over Phil’s, an assurance that means more than words ever could.

“I do.”

“They remind me of you. They make me feel alive, and I can’t say anyone else has made me feel that way before you.” If they were alone Phil would lean in a catch Dan’s lips in a soft kiss, but they’re far from alone so a small smile suffices.

“I love you.” It’s quiet and barely a whisper but leaves Phil’s cheeks flushed cerise and Dan’s lips bearing a wide smile.

“I love you too.”

*

The week passes by quite uneventfully, with Dan stopping by at night to help close the store being the highlight of each day.

“You know Phil,” He wraps his arms around his frame and places his chin on his shoulder. “You’re really gorgeous in this light.” Dan tucks a strand behind Phil’s ear before kissing him softly. It’s tender and envelops Phil in nothing but warmth and love, with fingers tangled at the base of his neck and the others cupping his cheek ever-so-lightly. Mumbled nothings are uttered against each other’s lips and soft gasps fill the silence as Dan’s teeth gently clasp Phil’s lips. It’s 4am whispers and fingers traced on chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake and light scratches from nails. It’s neon sparks as eyes meet in the darkness, candles dim beside them and kisses which tell stories. It’s how the snow melts and Spring takes Winters place, the sun casting light over the moon once again.

 

It all changes when Winter turns to Spring, as if a fleeting romance could never last. The days grow longer and the sun rises higher and it seems Dan’s lips don’t sit right anymore. Kisses grow bittersweet and somehow it has changed. Their love’s grown distant, almost as if they’re

“Love me again.” Dan whispers as a duvet blankets them.

“I already do.” It’s as if the love they bear is not enough. Three simple words meaning less than they ever could, less than either ever want to admit.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Yet nights are still spent in each other’s arms, with the hum of Yesterday on their lips and gin on their tongues. And perhaps it’s how it’s meant to be, perhaps the storm never arrives but fades in soft waves.

 

Phil opens the door with a soft hand, wincing as his eyes meet with a rather bloodied and bruised Dan.

“Dan look at you,” Phil motions for Dan to sit on a chair before dampening a cloth and wipes the cut on Dan’s lip. “You really need to be more careful.” He cleans up the wound on his cheek and places a kiss on his forehead, pushing back his fringe with the tips of his fingers.

“Do you even know how-” He chokes back a sob.

“Yes I do. I know how much it hurts to think you’re broken, to think you’re sick because of who you love.” Phil crouches down and takes Dan’s hand in his. “Your hand, did you hit the mirror?” It’s a slight nod from Dan which prompts Phil to stand up and reach for the cupboard under his sink for some antiseptic. “It may sting a little.”

“Why does it have to be like this?” Dan wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper, spotted with crimson blood from the wounds on his knuckles.

“I don’t know, but you have me.” He carefully wraps Dan’s hand in a cloth before placing a kiss to each finger.

Phil isn’t sure how long they have left, with their kisses salty and tender eyes turning harsher as the hours tick by.

*

They try in the form of whispered nothings under the pale light of the moon, kisses like butter and fingers feather-light over each dip and crevice of their bodies. I love you’s are uttered after they go rigid and their minds blank; fingers laced and eyes half-lidded, focussed on the other entirely. They try when the sun peaks behind the clouds and blankets are sprawled under the tree where their lips touched for the first time.

They try but it’s never enough, because it’s all changed and Phil can’t stand it any longer.

*

“Want one?” Dan pours himself another glass of whiskey, full to the brim and if Phil blinked long enough the glass would be empty once again. He shakes his head, resting his head on the pillow he placed in the corner of the shop. His fingers are numb but it seems strange to ask Dan to warm them; they’re more like strangers now he thinks.

“I don’t see how you can survive off that stuff.” It’s small talk which makes his skin crawl and heart weak and all he wants is for time to stop.

“Tastes good.” Dan takes another sip before placing beside him. His legs are crossed and fingers drum on his knees and perhaps he’s trying to avoid it, perhaps he’s trying to mend the unmendable. “What happened to us?” He mumbles laying beside Phil.

“We grew apart.” Phil has to swallow a sob.

“I think we should end things, there’s no point in hanging on to something that’s gone.”

As Phil walks home he kicks a stone, and it seems quite fitting the downpour of rain is just enough to dampen his hair. It’s a solemn night with nothing but a glass of water in his hand, precarious between the pads of his fingers. The rain patters against the window and for once his flat is silent, not a single record on the player or a song hummed as he waltzes through the lounge. Instead he sits in the chair opposite the window, with the potted plants seemingly the only bit of life in the room.

 

He passes Dan as he walks to the corner store; nothing more than a weak smile followed by downcast eyes and it leaves a pang in Phil’s heart, shattering what is already broken. He can’t forget the nights they whispered I love you under blankets and between sheets, the nights where everything seemed to slow and it was them against the whole universe. The first time their eyes met and lips brushed is etched into his memory and no matter how hard he tries he can never replace the irreplaceable. Dan’s like the whiskey he used to drink, a cigarette in which he can’t get enough of and a song which makes his lips move effortlessly into words. And men come and go, with the promise of love and a forever but it never settles and Phil can never rid his mind of what could’ve been if perhaps they tried harder; what could’ve been if they loved each other the same. Dan’s name lingers forever on Phil’s lips, and no matter how hard he tries to move on he’s always at the back of his mind with a shy smile and a tender glance, because who could truly blame the inevitable?

*

_But perhaps straying isn’t so bad, as he thinks how lucky he is to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard._


End file.
